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Sfstory Log 016

Subject:     Natch and Ralph watch a Show
From:        Eric, Lord Sabre, at least this week (enll6ac at bostonu)

     Natchwald swooped over the Earth, looking at it at the sort of angles
he always wanted to.  He had joined NASA specifically because he had this
inclination to watch the Earth from angles not usually available.  Actually,
this wasn't so much an inclination as a fetish, but if you won't hold it
against him, I sure as heck won't.
     Back down on Earth, sitting in a McDonalds eating a Mcweasalfood Burger
and shake was Ralph, a weaseloid who was strumming his ukulele (spelling
courtesy Debbie at UKCC, whose last name escapes me and I hope she doesn't
hold it against me.  Remember, kids, because she got her name in sfstory, she
has ten minutes to msg in in order to qualify for the bonus promotion!  Of
course, as the promotion is void where prohibited by law, there's little
chance she'll actually get anything for her troubles, but that is life....
Dr. Abigail Ann Young should also be mentioned for two spelling corrections.
However, that letter isn't in front of me EITHER, and I'd hate to misspell
them now, but if you think about it, you should figure out what words they
were.  Dr. Young also is therefore eligible.
     I seem to have strayed from the storyline.  You should really tell me
when I begin to ramble like that.)
     Ultranatch landed, barely resisting unleashing all of his weapons at
the author for interuppting and blathering on.  However, he resisted, as he
was too concerned with being dropped from the plots and ignored.
     "Hey there, how was your ariel view?"  asked Ralph.
     "Oh, it was there...really awe inspiring, though.  I have no clue as
to what this terroist activity might be.  I think maybe I got the author's
pre-pre-posting notes, instead of his current ones.  I guess there won't
be anything going on after all."
     Meanwhile, on Rhode Island (which for my purposes is a section
of New England, although there are some who doubt this), a young man
was watching the pretty ships go in and out of the Newport Navel base.
Sighing and dreaming of the sea, as young man with particularly strong
water fetishs are wont to do, he dropped his Pepsi can into a convienent
pipe sticking out of the ground, thinking nothing of it as he was dreaming
of the sea and didn't hav time for any stupid pipes!
     The Pepsi can fell for an awfully long time.  It fell at least three
miles and then fell some more.  It finally landed in the engine intake of a
very large, very old, very suprising to be found down here Hypertroop
carrier.  It made a very loud clang and activated the ships's auto-engine-
intake-clearer, which shot the Pepsi can back up the hole at seven hundered
miles an hour, which surprised the young man so much he ceased dreaming of
the sea.
     The can eventually landed in the Syracuse NY computer room, which
is surprising as the U Syracuse computer room has no exterior exposure.
A young, cute girl name of Becki picked up the rather battered and cut up
can, and decided to show it to a friend of hers in Cortland, a few miles
south of Syracuse, and birthplace of the Author's sister, who liked oddities
that were tangently related to soft drink companies.
     This is more signifigent then one would think.
     In the now activated ship, there were a large number of ETFTWSOTG.
This, as so many other bizzare words that  are capitalized in this story,
stood for something.  In this case: Evil Terrorists From The Wrong Side
Of The Galexy.  Please note that Galaxy is not spelled Galexy, but
none of the ETFTWSOTG were particularly good at spelling.  These ETFTWSOTG
were all hibernating in the suspended animation chambers which had not
awakened them as soon as those nasty dinosaurs were extinct, as they had
planned.  Instead, the computer had gotten into a particularly intense
subroutine with a particularly disreputable account at link EROTICVM on
BTNETDNET (or, the Because There's Nothing Else To Do Network).  The
culmanation of this disrupted normal traffic control through the spaceways,
a disruption that eventually lead to the Ninth Galactic War, which bombed
the old republic back to the Magma age.  Because of this, the computer
had been nologged and therefore shut itself down out of boredom, allowing
the dirt which eventually became Rhode Island to settle over it.
    Reactivated, the computer checked outside, checked with its satillite
when it realised it couldn't see outside, and discovered the dinosaurs were
in fact quite extinct.  It therefore went to work awakening Orroug, the
leader of the ETFTWSOTG.
     Orroug got up, steched, worked the kinks out of his tail, and washed
the dirt of his reptilian body.  He then contentedly picked at his skin
while checking the bioreadouts of his crew, and checking the time.
     "Needlewarp!" he shouted--with no explanation how he would know a
word that came into use less than thirty years before.  "We've overslept
by close to three million years!  Idiot!"
     ^Yes, sir?^ said the computer (idiot at lizardcom1).
     "Wake the crew and fire up the turbothrusters, we have to remake
this world into a terrorist base to launch attacks to topple the
repulbic!"  Of course, Orroug had no way of knowing that the republic
had been toppled for so many millions of years, there wasn't any record
of it at all.  "Oh, what mail messages are there?"
     ^There are five million, six hundered thousand, four hundered...^
     "Forget it, just dump the lot."  Which is a pity, as every message
was a basic repeat that said "The Republic Toppled, Good Work, Don't Bother
with the Earth...."
     ^The crew is awake, sir.^
     "Than fire the turbothrusters and get us in the air!"
     The turbothrusters fired.
     About seven hundred tons of dirt were balsted off--destroying all of
Rhode Island, including the young man who caused the problem.  He did
do one good thing however, as you will see.
     One good size chunk flew off, and eventually landed on and completly
crushed Syracuse New York (which had considered itself safe as it was not
in New England.)  However, young Becki was crusing in her car to Cortland
and was the only one spared, except for one other, but that's a different
author's posting.  If the young man hadn't dropped the can, she would have
died with the rest.  Of course, if he hadn't dropped the can, Syracuse itself
would have survived.
     A different chunk took out Newburg NY, purly out of spite.
     The author swore, he had been aiming for Cortland, to wipe out
his sister's birthplace.  But, there was always tomorrow....
     The Giant TerrorShip Oh_No_Not_That rose up out of the crater that
was Rhode Island and was fast filling up to become the Rhode Island
Pentagram, a terror to navigation in the Atlantic for years to come.
     Off on Martha's Vineyard, Ultranatch and Ralph watched it rise.  "I
suppose that's the terrorists we have to stop," said Ralph.
     "Yup, check please." Said Ultranatch, who wondered if being a
discontinued character would be so bad....


The answers to the questions are ambiguious at best, so you'd best wait
for the next edition to SFSTORY CSNOTICE, when we may have clarified them.

***** Entry appended 14:53 on Fri, 04/22/88 by enll6ac at bostonu   # 183 *****
Subject:     Where Toni gets involved...
From:        Patrick McCoy (enldc8c at bostonu)

     Buzz readied to power the Star Drive of the Rocket Racer V down to
dogfighting speed and was transfering the extra power to his turbo-lasers
when he realized that the NKDBFTIV fleet had disappeared and the only
thing firing at him was Camelot Command.
     Buzz threw the Rocket Racer V into evasive maneuvers as he tried to
figure out why a paladin with no connections with the IU Administration
would want to blow him up. Tachi was, of course, unmoved, and Bert was
excitedly babbling and asking why this was happening.
     Buzz grabbed the microphone and turned opened hailing frequencies.
     "This is Space Commander Buzz Williams calling Camelot Command, do
you read me, over?"
     Onboard the satelite, a very beautiful 17 year old with bat wings
walked over to the communications console and pressed the button labled
"filter out all static so I can understand button and replay the message.".
After she understood, she seepishly asked, "THE Space Commander Buzz Williams?"
     "Yes," Buzz responded as he dodged the oncomming blasts from the
automatic defenses, "soon to be the former Space Commander Buzz Williams
if Camelot Command's defenses aren't deactivated!"
     Toni looked about the control room desperately, looking for the off
switch. She swooped to the command chair and looked at the buttons the
Commander of the station, young Matt DeForrest, had pressed with such
confidence and authority (he knew the secret of how the buttons interpret
the pusher's wishes from his omnicience account). She turned to the
viewscreen which, as Buzz used a radio, was blank and said, "How do I turn
them off???"
     Onboard the Rocket Racer V, Buzz and Tachi looked at one another with
the worried look that people who have a strong grip on reality get when
something goes very, very wrong. Bert, as expected, whimpered.
     "Isn't there anyone there who knows how?"
     "No," Toni whimpered, "Matt and Linda left in the Millenium Badger
and the Intern left with Radar and Mark for Interstellar U."
     "Never mind!" said Buzz with an air of authority usually not heard
outside Space Operas like this, "I'm going to dock! I'll type in the
access code now!" Buzz hit some buttons on a keyboard that looked like
it was from before the age of electric typewriters. "This had better
work," he mumbled to himself as an anti-space cannon locked on to his
space ship.
     The defenses of Camelot Command ceased firing and a cheerful
computer voice said over the radio, ***Access code recognized and verified,
Commander DeForrest. You may dock at landing bay 3. Thank you and have a
nice day.***
     "Wow," said Bert somewhat predictably, "How did you know the code?"
     "Elementary, my dear Bert," responded Buzz as he flew into the
spacedock, "Matt DeForrest is the paladin in charge of the base and is
in love with Linda. Therefore, as you know if you have been reading Eric's
postings, she is constantly on his mind. Therefore, I typed in 'J'aime
Linda' as the access code -- French for 'I love Linda.'"
     "But how did you know to use French?" asked Bert as Buzz shut down
the rocket systems.
     "French is the language of love, Bert. It's only natural."
     Buzz, followed by Tachi and Bert, walked towards the hatch to leave.
Along the way, Buzz noticed the missing bug spray and found the video
cassette with the explanitory note from one of the authors. He told Bert
that, at the first avaliable opportunity, he was to begin memorizing
everything he saw on the cassette in order to place out of as many
courses as he could at IU, where he intended to place Bert as a
major in sidekicks. Who knows, maybe, with a lot of work, he could
even become a space hero.
     THe three left the Rocket Racer V and entered Camelot Command. As
they did, Toni swooped in and grabbed ahold of Buzz so quickly that neither
the aging hero nor Tachi could draw their weapons.
     Actually, they could have easilly done so if it weren't for the fact
that, in a higher dimension, two authors had been playing a game of poker
and  something like this occured:
     "OK, Pat," said the golden-auraed figure wearing a sword, "I'll
see your bet of 2 hours of prime time and raise you a character in the
     "I call," responded his opponent who was wearing a Celtic Cross around
his kneck. "What do you have?"
     "Three queens," said Lord Sabre, gloating.
     "I've got you," responded the other, "Full house!"
     "OK, who've I won? Matt and Linda? Muck-Luck? The Intern?"
     The author, not wanting to waste his winnings, then went to Heaven.
There he found St. Peter who was grumbling about having lost Bubba to yet
another plotline and the fact that Gabriel was very particular about the
way he wants his bed made. He was about to off Toni when he noticed a golden
glow creeping over the pages.
     "Oh, no....not again. WHY can't you people leave me alone!"
     "Because you have the Holy Erasers, Peter. I just won the character
you just offed."
     "NO! I WILL NOT SAVE HER! You can get away with doing that with
Linda, but not with a succubus! I killed her fair and square!"
     "Peter, if you don't delay Buzz and Tachi's draw, I will bring several
philosophers here to debate with you for the next half of eternety whether
or not a succubuss can really be killed."
     "You wouldn't..." said Peter as he paled.
     "Without thinking."
     Peter grumbler as he erased and re-wrote. "OK, Mr. Author, tell me this.
Why are we in dialouge if you are here?"
    "It's past tense. I already have Buzz being hugged by her right now."
     But back to the story...
     Camelot Command rocked as tremors were felt troughout the universe.
     "That can only mean one of two things," mumbled Buzz as he realized
that Toni wasn't going to kill anyone here. "Come on! Into the ship!
We don't have much time!"
     "Can I come," asked Toni sheepishly.
     "Of course," said Buzz, allowing her to pass in front of him and enter
the ship. "Ladies always go first," he told Bert.
     They ducked into the Rocket Racer V where, in the cockpit, they met a
Golden, Glowing figure wearing a Celtic Cross.
     "Buzz, you need to go to Syracuse to rescue a friend of mine from
almost certain destruction. Her name is Laura Zobkiw and she attends Syracuse
University. The co-ordinants are plugged into the navagational system. After
you leave, the automated systems of Camelot Command will re-activate. Also,
be careful...Lord Sabre may try to stela her from you and complicate the
Matt DeForrest plotline with her."
     "How would that work?" asked Toni who knew that Matt was quite beyond
     "Because he was once in love with her and he still wants to protect
her. Good luck, Buzz."
     With that, the author faded back into the background.
     "Well, you heard the man, let's go."
     With that, the Rocket Racer V sped towards Earth.


for all this and more...well, you know the schtich.

***** Entry appended 15:59 on Fri, 04/22/88 by enldc8c at bostonu   # 184 *****
Subject:     357 returns to base
From:        The Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)

The HMS Golden Lance, one of the few space-time ships powered by Spam, one
of the most powerful in the known universe, in the top 20% of the unknown
universe, and the single most powerful ship in this entry, was struck in
five o'clock traffic.

"Beeeeeep!" said another ship's puny 112 decibel ether-airhorn.

"BEEEEEEEEEEEP!" said the Golden Lance's 121 decibel ether-airhorn (every
increase of 3 decibels indicates roughly double the volume.  You figure it
out).  357 glanced in his rear viewscreen, and cursed as the freighter
nearly ran him down.  It screached to a halt, then began to sound its 127
decibel ether-airhorns as its owner/operator read 357's bumper sticker.

"If you don't like the way I drive, dial 1-800-EAT-SHIT," said the bumper
sticker, as inanimate objects often speak in the Cowboy's entries.

Eventually, 357 made his way past the traffic jam, and again wondered how,
with all the limitless, three-dimensional space around, a traffic jam could
ever occur.  Then he noticed he was approaching a string of Radar Vogel
suntan lotion space-billboards.  That's right, the one that advertises "I
don't have tan lines" where Radar wears five gallons of lotion and a smile.
357 no longer wondered why there was a traffic jam.  Getting tired of
staying in realspace simply to give the author an excuse to pass crude jokes
about a very respectable lady, he warped out into hyperspace, kicked in the
ABPSAR and went over to netherspace, put on his Spock earmuffs and slid into
otherspace, and ran his Zack-man game until he arrived at his homebase.

The base, unlike most secret bases, was not hidden.  No attempt was made to
shield outgoing energy fluxes, no cloaking devises were being used, and no
attempt had been made to disguise the gun emplacements.  The reason for this
is that this particular base existed in alterverse 934, which had never been
entered by any living creature with the exception of Time Agent 357 and
several goldfish.  The goldfish later died.  357 had figured that anyone who
found his base had to have already known it was there, and therefore hiding
it would be a waste of effort.

"357 to Bedlam Central," broadcasted 357, not wanting his own base's guns to
blast him out of the sky.  Unheeding his broadcast, the sleek barrels of
many guns turned to face him.  "Val, are you watching Space Operas again?"

=Yes.  Do you need the vidcom for something?=

"Only to save our miserable hides from our own defense system."

=Oops!  Er, HMS Golden Lance to Bedlam Central.  Deactivate defences.=
Embarrased pause.  =How's that?=

"Fine," said 357 as the ship docked.  "Why don't you take a couple of day's
R&R and sort out your system.  You've been distracted lately."

=Huh?  Did you say something?=

357 repeated his instructions, and then checked over Bedlam Central's
controls and automatic functions.  Everything worked perfectly.  Not that
it shouldn't, as in this time stream only a few days had passed since his
departure.  Secure in the knowledge that the base was secure, he leaned back
in his Super-comfy Adjustamatic chair and began to watch a little ESPN
(Extra Sensory Perception Network).  The fact that the signal was scrambled,
was being pulled in from another reality, and was being displayed on a type
of screen never dreamed of by its originator's didn't seem to effect
picture quality.

He was just beginning to enjoy the psi-boxing match when a BS&S commercial
came on.  "Call your mother," it said.  357 thought back, and realized it
had been nearly 50 years his time since he had seen his mother.  He went
over to the temporal teleporter terminal (TTT) and dialed in a formula that
would send him to see her about 20 years after his last visit, as he didn't
want her to get too worried.  Checking that the recal device was firmly
attached to his wrist, 357 teleported out in a brief display of unimaginable
color and sound.

This teleportation was seen by Doctor Bing Von Spleen, who enters the story
at this point because he had been passed out onboard the Golden Lance all
this time.  He pondered the effect for a few minutes, giving the reader the
impression that he was mentally examining the mechanisms involved.  Actually,
he was attempting to decide whether or not he was still hallucinating.  He
had almost given in to the temptation to play with the controls when he
decided that eating was more important than scrambling 357's body pattern,
and went off in search of a refrigerator.  Besides, 357 appeared to be the
author's favorite and he didn't want to be stuck on Latigid again.

On a planet and time as far away from alterverse 943 as 943 is from Earth,
but in a different 10-dimensional direction altogether, 357 sputtered into
existance in his mother's kitchen.

In a plane of reality where computer accounts represented themselves in
human metaphors, VAL9000 crashed a party and began to look around for the
electronic equivalent of a Venturian Hyperwhiskey.

In alterverse 943, Doctor Bing Von Spleen fixed a very large meal, ate it,
belched loudly, and decided to sneek through 357's email, now that 357
wasn't around and VAL9000 appeared to be offline.

Will 357's mother be glad to see him?
Will VAL9000 enjoy herself in alterverse 216?
Will Doctor Spleen enjoy reading 323 postings to SEX CSNOTCE?
Will I ever come up with a plot and quit stalling?
What kind of plot will I come up with?
(Hint, giant space turnip)

***** Entry appended 01:15 on Mon, 04/25/88 by THC8650 at TNTECH    # 185 *****
Subject:     first of four
From:        The Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)

Satan, Prince of Darkness and Duke of Smelly Feet, belched loudly as he
limped from his 400th McRonald's to his 401th.  Being trapped in alterverse
723 had done nothing to improve his temper, but had taught him quite a bit
about indigestion.  For those of you who do not remember, alterverse 723 is
inhabited solely by fast food places.

Glancing across the street, he noticed a building of different design.  He
raced towards it, hoping it was a motel or travel agency.  He was very angry
when he discovered it was not.  Only his complete loss of Satanic powers
kept him from leveling the place.  Reluctantly, he went in.

The was a large, powerful demon standing behind the counter.  His horns
neatly punctured the paper hat he was wearing.  He noticed Satan and smiled
a demon smile.  When he spoke, it was the sound of a cement mixer running
full of concrete blocks and cats.

"Welcome to Taco Hell," he growled, eyes glowing red.  "What in Hell would
you like?"

Satan, at a complete loss for words, stuttered "A beef burrito, please."

"Bad choice," hissed the demon as he waved one clawed hand in a peculiar
manner.  Within seconds, a second demon appeared standing beside Satan.

"I am the Burrito demon," it said.  "I've come to possess your stomach."
Large fumes of smoke began to arise from Satan's midsection.

"AAAAUUUUUGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!" he screamed, running out of the building.  He
ran until he was out of the range of the demon's powers.  He made awful
plans to do vile and disgusting things to the author at the earliest
possible convenience.

***** Entry appended 22:14 on Mon, 04/25/88 by THC8650 at TNTECH    # 186 *****
From:        Eric, Lord Sabre (enll6ac at bostonu)

(*=so don't expect too much, I gotta set it up)
     The Intern stepped back into his TARDIS, still trapped in the image
of a BRador Malt Liquor Full Keg, despite the multiple attempts of the
entire Intersteller U Engineering staff and Radar Vogel to repair the
chamilion Circuit.  The last attempt merly got the circuit to send "Fuck
you monkey boy, and all the Anthrax-type warthogs whop blush!" in binary
to a small LED readout on a very old handheld electronic game.  But then,
Chamilieon Circuits aren't very bright.
     Stepping into the TARDIS, the Intern removed his Masters Robe he had
for the hooding ceremony.  It had been a tiring two weeks, getting through
finals and presenting a report on his activities.
     Smart readers will have noticed two weeks of time went by in this
posting, while next to no time has gone by in any of my other plotlines.
Well, you could do that too with a reliable time machine.  In any case,
even as we speak, the Big Battle Mark III is just ending, and the Intern
has recieved his degree...both at the same time.  Got it?
     Radar walked into the control room, smiling and buttoning her
blouse in an utterly cheap way to get some sex into this story.  "The
hooding ceremony was beautiful...but why the Elk and Moose engaging in...."
     "Traditional...has to do with IU's founding."
     "Oh...what was the empty know, the tacky Gold Lame' one?"
     "That was supposedly Prof Williams' chair...the old fool decided not to
return in time for the ceremony...probably off fighting the Tung again or
invading some world to rescue some unimportant us licensed,
serious, modern Space Heros SUCH a bad name...."
     "Oh...well, are we ready to go?"
     "As soon as we get Steve."
     "What about Trudy?"
     "Trudy's been accepted...she's an official major in Space Hero's
Sidekicking, Timelord Companion Emphisis...she placed out of Shrieking
102 AND 214, you know."
     " I guess she'll be seeing a lot of Mark...poor Mark."
     Mark Hyperthrust had had the book thrown at him.  He had been
summarily flunked for his assignment (find and aid one Damsel in Distress
and aid her on a quest), officially charged with destruction of University
Property (namely, the HMS Goodguy), and given one day to study for all of
his finals.  Like any other true college student, he spent the one day
getting really plastered with his friends, took his finals while severly
hung over, and did about as well as a two year old repairs a turbine
engine.  He would be repeating the entire Freshman year on Academic
Probation...with no field trips.
     "I have little sympathy for the guy...tell you what...lets have a
bit of a post-graduation party while waiting for Steve."  So saying,
he turned the lights to a deep purple and got some non dairy creamer and
a can of silly string, while Radar put on her Tinfoil pantys and let the
arrdvark out of his cage.
     We pause and give them some privacy for their innocent fun.
     Several hours later, the TARDIS appeared directly next to a three
ton Spam blob.
     Inside the temporal vehicle's control room were The Intern, Radar,
 and Steve.
     "My ship!" cryed Steve.
     "My God!" cryed Radar.
     "Mytosis," cryed the Intern, who was ignored.,
     After a bit of examination, a few mind altering substances, and a
good round of drinks, the Intern got the really neat idea of scanning the
blob and seeing what he could see.
     "Hey," he said, "the Challenger II is still in there...but all of
this Spam is clouding our sensors too much for us to get an accurate
     "Well," said Steve, who was overjoyed to hear his NASA spaceship
was still in existance, as he had been a little afraid he would have to
pay for it, "can't you just pass through the Time Whirlpool and appear
inside the Ship?"
     "No," said Radar, who realised that under her spandex aerobics outfit,
she had forgotten to take off her tinfoil panties, "Spam isn't really
a three dimensional substance, but a three dimensional construct of
a fourth dimensional vector.  It acts somewhat as a barrier against
TARDIS travel, distorting it.  We would have no way of knowing what
might happen to us if we attempted to enter it."
     "Then how will we reach the ship?" asked Steve, near tears in a
way no Captain of the air force should be.
     "Let me build another ABPSAR, use it to clear the spam away, and
then we'll see what we've got."
     "ANOTHER ABPSAR?" said the Intern, rather louder than he really
needed to, considering Radar and Steve were right spanking next to
them.  "I thought we were going to steer clear of spam powered devices!"
     "Honey...would you rather eat all three tons of spam by yourself?"
     "I think I have a beet peeler in the cupbord."
     Needless to say, after a bit of fun, frolic, foreplay, free love,
and fornication, the new ABPSAR was complete.  In fact, as the author
has a bit of a headache, we'll even say it works and clears away all the
spam, leaving only the Damaged and somewhat scruffy looking Challenger II.
     Of course, all of that Spam did create one field imbalence Spacewarp,
which gave incredible power to one man...a man who should never have been
allowed to have great power...but that'll be taken up later in the plotline.
     The TARDIS faded away, fading back inside of the Challenger II.
     The sensors said ^The air is breathable, the temp is Earth Normal,
and you PROMISED to get me a new optic!^, but the Intern shut them off
before they got too flaming.
     "Normal air and temperature?  Heck, the lights are even on...none
of this stuff should even be working..." said Steve, whining as usual.
     "Well, lets check it out," said the Intern, and they stepped out
     In a reccessed corner, in an awfully conviently placed shadow,
two pairs of eyes watched the three disembark.

     GIMMIE TIME....

The answers to these and many more questions will be found in the

***** Entry appended 22:29 on Mon, 04/25/88 by enll6ac at bostonu   # 187 *****
Subject:     second of four
From:        The Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)

In a strange and wonderful universe where computer accounts manefested
themselves as people, VAL9000 partied and had the time of her electronic
life.  Using her Time Police access codes, she had just crashed the biggest
party of all time, BLOWOUT at PARTYU.  She sipped her drink and looked over the
accounts in the room, mostly from YALEVM.

Suddenly, she noticed one account that looked a bit out of place.  Flannel
shirts and snakeskin boots were not usually to be found in a preppy party
such as this.  He saw her staring and sauntered over.

"Howdy," he said.  "What's an IBM like you doing in a nice place like this?"

=Just enjoying myself,= she answered looking around for a sysop who could
kick him out.

"I'm THC8650 at TNTECH," he said by way of introduction.  Val choked on her
coke and looked at him closely.

=You're the account of one of the authors, aren't you?=


=How'd you get in?=

"I told them I was with the band."

=There isn't a band.=

"Yeah, preppies are pretty dumb, aren't they?"  He favored her with a
lopsided grin and downed another drink.

=How can you be here while the author is using you to type this entry?= she
said, suspecting a trap.

"Simple.  All this right now is happening during the weekend.  He's writing
about it on Monday night."

They chatted for a while longer, but suddenly noticed the party was growing
silent.  Looking up, VAL9000 saw the reason.  "Annihilator," she hissed.
THC8650 at TNTECH stood quietly, a silver-colored gun materializing in a gold
holster on his hip.

"Where's superbrain at oracle2!" shouted Annihilator, taking no notice of THC.

"He's not here, Ann," answered THC8650.  "Why don't you pick on someone your
own size?"  He did not add that there was no one in the alterverse that was
Annihilator's size.  However, this comment did get his attention.

"Give it up, null bit," he snarled.  "I'm not interested in small game."

By then all of the PARTYU patrons had left, leaving the place deserted
except for THC8650, Annihilator, and VAL9000, though the latter was easing
towards the door.

"Superbrain hasn't done you any harm."

"You don't consider kicking an account below the belt harmful?  I do.
That's why I'm out raisng hell without Muck-luck's knowledge.  I've blasted
Sirius VII.  I've nuked Latigid.  I've even re-energized the Giant Space
Turnip."  He seemed very proud of the last, though no one but the author
seemed to notice.

THC8650 pondered this.  "You're a menace, Ann.  It's time someone shut you
down."  His hand moved towards his gun with lightning speed.

The electron burst struck Annihilator square in the chest with a force of
several million newtons.  This caused him to step backwards.  His answering
blast reduced to electric rubble roughly half of the building, caused nodes
all across the planet to go down, and gave Satan a migraine head-ache.

THC8650 fired several more rounds, hitting Annihilator each time but still
managing to destroy the rest of the room.  VAL900 his under a table and
began composing her will.

Realizing that even the account of a SFSTORY writer could not take out
Annihilator in a fair fight, THC8650 decided to make it an unfair one.
Setting his pistol to "experimental overload effect that does in the bad
dude", he tossed it to his electronic foe.  Annihilator caught it easily,
and was about to toss it back with sufficient force to send it through his
opponent and the screaming female account when it imploded.  With a lewd,
sucking sound it suddenly contracted to a point, taking Annihilator with it.

"Whew," said THC8650.  "That was close.  Look, I'm expecting Cowboy back at
any moment.  It's up to you to get the news to Time Agent 357."

=What news?" said VAL9000, still dazed.

"That the Giant Space Turnip has been re-energized."  With that, he
disappeared.  She considered at what he had said and headed back towards
Bedlam Central.

***** Entry appended 22:58 on Mon, 04/25/88 by THC8650 at TNTECH    # 188 *****
Subject:     third of four
From:        The Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)

In Heaven, St. Peter looked around and noticed that nobody was
watching him.  He quietly stole off and teleported himself to the netherspace
Nympho beach, where the gambling casino he and Bubba had planned was being
constructed.  He examined the progress, and quickly teleported back, hoping he
hadn't missed anything important.

He had.  While he was gone, God had returned and had began to look through the
Book.  He did not look happy.

"Peter," he said rather softly.  "Why did you change The Book?"

"Uh," said Peter.  "Well," he elaborated.  "I had no choice," he finally said.

"Why no choice?"

"The authors kept hounding me.  Every time I turned around they were hopping up
here and ordering me around."

"Why would they do that?"

"To cover their own stupid mistakes, no doubt."  St. Peter was now feeling more
sure of himself.

God considered this for a few moments.  "I sense you speak the truth.  Very
well.  Let us hope that they will stop this soon.  How are my new Paladins

"Very well," said Peter, who actually didn't know.

For that matter, neither do I.

***** Entry appended 23:57 on Mon, 04/25/88 by THC8650 at TNTECH    # 190 *****
Subject:     fourth of four
From:        The Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)

Time Agent 357 sputtered into existance in his mother's kitchen.  "Mom," he
said softly.  The woman swirled around, meat cleaver in one hand and salad
spoons in the other.  She was equally deadly with either.  She recognized
her son and ran to greet him.

"357, it's been 20 years.  Why haven't you written?  Don't they have phones
in Space?  I bet you haven't been eating regularly.  Are you wearing clean
underwear?  Wha-"

"Mom," said 357.  "Please, I'm a grown man and can take care of myself."

"Pooh," Mom answered.  "You're a mortal and you should take care of
yourself.  And start thinking about settling down and raising a family."

At this point it would be unfair to the reader not to mention a few points.
357's race, though humanoid in appearance, is very far from human.  Almost
all members of the race are immortal.  Not in the sense that you could throw
them into the heart of a supernova and have them still kicking, but rather
in the sense that, barring accidental dismemberment, they would live
forever.  Some few individuals, however, were not immortal and lived out an
allotted span of years just like most other races in the galaxy.  However,
the allotted span of the members of 357's race outnumbered those of lesser
mortals by a few orders or magnitude.  Also, these few special members had
great powers of regeneration and recovery.

All in all, this meant that 357 was a great deal tougher than most members
of his race.  Even though he was not immortal, he could take more punishment
and still live than any other inhabitant.  Ironic, isn't it?  Back to the

"Mom, I'm only 340 years old.  I've got plenty of time."

"But I worry about you so," she countered.  "And little 451 down the street
just turned 300.  You know how much you liked her when you were kids."

The hint was unmistakable.  357 changed the subject.  "We've defeated Satan
again.  And I met up with the Intern a few weeks back.  He's getting married
sometime soon.  Asked me to be the best man if I'm available when he finally
gets around to it.  Well, I've got to be going."  He moved his hand towards
the recall unit.

"Wait," said his mother.  "Are you wearing clean underwear?"

"Mom, I'm 340 years old and you still ask my if I'm wearing clean underwear.
What difference does it make?"

"You might be in a wreck," his mother stated.

"Mom, if I pilot my ship into an asteroid, I won't have clean underwear in
any case."

"Good-bye, Son," she said, beginning to cry.

"Bye, Mom," he replied, and activated the Temporal Teleporter Terminal.
Within seconds he was back at Bedlam Central.

=357!= shouted the voice of his computer.

"Yes, Val?"

=We have a problem.  I've heard rumors that there's something called a Giant
Space Turnip out in space somewhere.=

357 was confused.  He remebered hearing something about the GST before, but
could not remember it.  "Begin scanning for it.  And ask Time Central for

What is the Giant Space Turnip?
Why is it dangerous?
What will Annihilator do when he un-implodes himself?
Is 357 wearing clean underwear?
Well, IS HE?

For the answers to these and other questions, tune in to the next startling
episode of SFSTORY!

***** Entry appended 23:29 on Mon, 04/25/88 by THC8650 at TNTECH    # 189 *****
Subject:     Orders are orders
From:        The Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)

"Email, Val."


"Val, Email."


"Val, drop those damn sparkplugs and give me email!"

=EMAIL= (sniff)

You have 1 new message(s).


From               Date                 Subject
CHIEF at TIME        4-27-88               Re:  Assignment complete

EMAIL read

To:  357 at VAL9000
From:  CHIEF at TIME
Subject:  Re:  Assignment complete
Good job, 357.  We were going to give you a promotion, but it will have to
wait until our lawyers finish the suit with Warner Bros.

In the meantime, patrol the area of space defined by 42 gal-long by 98
gal-lat over to the handle of the Big Dipper.

Love,  Chief.
P.S.  I still have those pictures of us at your retirement party.  If you
want them, you'll have to come get them.  Hubby's gone this weekend.

EMAIL exit

"Val, set course for 42 gal-long by 98 gal-lat."

=Not even a please?=

"Pretty please with sugar on top."

=Sure thing, honey.=

"Where's the good Doctor?"

=In the Medicine Room.=

"I didn't know we had a medicine room."

=Well, he did some redecorating while we were gone this weekend.=

"I thought he might."

=How's your mother?=

"Same as always."

=Immortals are like that.=

"G'nite, Val"

=Goodnight, 357.=

***** Entry appended 14:04 on Wed, 04/27/88 by THC8650 at TNTECH    # 191 *****
Subject:     In the news
From:        The Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)

This is Ran Dather reporting.

By order of the Interstellar Safety Commission, the highly successful Radar
Vogel Suntan Lotion Billboards were deemed a menace to navigation and were
torn down this weekend.  Over twenty thousand beings of varying types showed
up for the demolition, hoping to sneak away with some part of the
billboards.  The Franklin Mint is offering full-color, life-sized
reproductions of all twenty of these billboards for modest prices.  For
information, email FRANK at RIPOFF.

The Interstellar Safety Commission also warns all craft to steer clear of
gal-lat 42 by gal-long 98.  Several craft have disappeared in that area in
the last several days.  Exactly what is causing these disappearances is
unkown, but uncomfirmed rumors seem to point towards the existance of a
giant, space-going vegetable of some sorts.

Time Police Cadet G.X.P. Varneyloop LXVII has volunteered to take part in
the new High Speed Temporal Knowledge Implantation Technique.  If the HSTKIT
is successful, he will receive the knowledge of a full four-year curriculum
at the Time Police Academy in approximately two weeks.  If unsucessful, a
full military burial with honors will be provided.  According to his
advisor, John James Johannson Swedish Guru of Knowledge of Space, Time, and
Fornication (formerly John Johnson), "If anyone can do it, he can.  Of
course, if he can do it, anyone can."

The 52nd Annual Nude Volleyball Championship Playoffs were cancelled when
the public showed no interest in them.  One ex-fan of the sport was quoted
as saying "Just ain't no fun without Radar."  Exactly what was meant by this
comment is unknown.

I'm Ran Dather, and that's the news.  Goodnight.

***** Entry appended 14:39 on Wed, 04/27/88 by THC8650 at TNTECH    # 192 *****
Subject:     Approaching gal-lat 42 by gal-long 98
From:        The Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)

=Approaching gal-lat 42 by gal-long 98.=

"Approaching gal-lat 42 by gal-long 98?"

"Is there an echo in here?"

Taking pity on the readers, the author decided to arbitrarily inform them
that the first speaker was the VAL9000 computer aboard the HMS Golden Lance,
the second was Doctor Bing Von Spleen, and the third was Time Agent 357.

The Doctor, fresh from a drug-induced semi-coma, staggered into the Control
Room.  357 made a mental note to have a talk with him about his drug problem.

=Yes, Doctor,= replied Val.  =We've now reached those co-ordinates.=

"You look a little pale, Spleen," said 357.  "What's the matter?"

"Didn't you watch the news last night?" the Doctor choked out.

"Yeah, but they're never right about anythi-"


357 had activated the shields, deflectors, lasers, missiles, DIESCUM
blasters, and food processor before the echo's of Val's warnings had died.
He then activated the scanners, which told him the approaching vessel was a
powerless derelict.  He deactivated the weapons and ordered Val to move the
ship in closer.  357 left the Control Room.

"Where's he gone off to?" Spleen wondered, seating himself in the command
chair and idly flipping switches, which annoyed Val to no end.

"Val?" came 357's voice over the intercom.  "Could you send Doctor Spleen
back to the TTT room?"

=Sure thing, Honey.=

Doctor Spleen arrived at the TTT room, marveling at the spacesuit 357 had
cobbled together.  In addition to containing virtually every scanning device
on the ship that wasn't nailed down, a complete life support system, and an
ultrapowerful weapons system, it was also color co-ordinated.  357 began
fiddling with the Temporal Teleporter Terminal controls.

"Surely," said the Doctor, "You're not going over to that (indicating the
derelict) in that (indicating the spacesuit)?"

"Of course not," answered 357.  "You are."


"Don't 'duh' me.  After I added all the options it was too small for me.
You're the only one on the ship that can do the job, so you're going to do
it."  At no time did 357's voice rise above normal conversation level, yet
the effect was as blood-curdling as one of Muck-Luck's superaccount-assisted

The next thing the Doctor knew, he was inside the suit inside the derelict
(not necessarily in that order).  Automatic scanning devices activated.
Over the radio, 357 ordered him to look around and not to throw up.

"Why not?" asked the Doctor.

"Because throwing up in zero-gee in a spacesuit is a messy, but certain
death," came the answer.

Wondering about the ship, the Doctor noticed that there was no sign of
life.  Also, no sign of death.  The ship was absolutely deserted.  He
ventured back to the Engine Room.  He found it behind a door marked "Engine
Room."  Unimaginative, but it gets the job done.  The door swished open.

"Swish," said the door.

"Wait a minute," mumbled the Doctor.  "Hey, Cowboy.  This ship is a
derelict, right?"

*Uh, right.*

"And has NO power, right?"


"So how did the door swish open just then?"

*Hmmmm.  Hold on a second.*  The author quickly moved himself to the
location of St. Peter.

*Peter,* he said.

"Oh, no," said St. Peter.  "Can't you leave me alone?  Tonight's opening
night.  Can I interest you in free admission to Club Nympho?"

*Maybe later.  Right now I want you to take the Holy Eraser and-*

"No way, fuzzy face.  God has control of The Book now.  You'll have to get
out of this one on your own."

The author was understandably upset.  However, being a genius (or at least
thinking you're one) has its advantages.  He quickly thought up a way out.

Doctor Spleen entered the Engine Room.  There, he discovered a technical
manual.  On Page 921, paragraph 2, line 5, it stated "In case of total power
failure, emergency batteries will supply enough current to open the Engine
Room doors and activate the lights, which is how you're able to read this

The Doctor, suitably impressed, continued his examination.  Suddenly, he
made a small choking sound, much like the one you make when you realize the
blind date your mother set you up with is the girl who used to beat you up
every day in third grade.  He quickly called 357.

"357, I've discovered something important!"

"What is it?"

"Well, it's like this.  You see..."

What has Doctor Spleen discovered?
Will other authors take my hint and stop abusing the Holy Eraser?
Will the VAL9000 computer continue to function in the increasingly erratic
magnetic fields that I just decided should inhabit that area of space?
Is my writing sexist?

For the answers to these, and much more, tune in to the next exciting
episode of Critters II,  The Main Course.

***** Entry appended 23:19 on Wed, 04/27/88 by THC8650 at TNTECH    # 193 *****
Subject:     Matt and Linda on the run
From:        Eric, Lord Sabre (enll6ac at bostonu)

     Matt and Linda were cuddling together in the pilot's chair in the
cockpit of the Millenium Badger.  Actually, the only reason we say they were
cuddling instead of "being uncomfortably mashed together in a single person
chair that forced their bodies into positions they were never meant for" is
because they were both enjoying it, or at least claiming to.
     They were travelling in hyperspace, this being a hyperdrive equipped
vehicle.  They were being pursued by a WarpShip, with Warp Drive, following
in Warp Space.  Of course, as the HMS Millenium Badger and the WarpShip
Elsewhere are both extremely sophisticated ships, they were more than capable
of tracking, and even attacking each other from their respective dimensions,
even while doing incedental damage to the different objects existing between the
ships in RealSpace (where we are now.)
     You got all that?  I don't plan on repeating myself.
     Matt and Linda had far toofar a lead on Muck-Luck for Muck-Luck to
destroy them right now.  So the two felt safe in looking for a place to explore,
confident in the author's ability to figure a way for the two to defeat a
psychotic with a supercomputer account capable of rending stars like slightly
used tissue paper.
     "Matt," said Linda, who was squirming and twisting to try and read the
screen on the left side of the chair--the one marked "Planetary Scanner", "There
is a planet just ahead of us, only ten light minutes away.  If we want to
investigate it, we'll have to drop out of HyperSpace now."
     "All right," said Matt, who performed a truly remarkable feat of dextarity
in getting to the primary control board, and managed to push the "Drop Out
Of HyperSpace and Assume Standerd Orbit Around Planet" button with only minor
injuries to himself and to Linda.  "Linda," he said, "no matter how we feel
about each other, let's not share a Pilot's chair any more."
     "All right," said Linda, who inwardly sighed a sigh of utter thankfulness.
     The HMS Millenium Badger did as commanded and assumed standard orbit.
Muck-Luck shot past them, and was five light years away before he realised that
he was no longer in pursuit, but instead was looking rather foolish.  This gives
me a chance to enlighten the readers as to a peculiarity of Starship names.
     Astute reader will have noticed there are two normally used prefixes
to starship names in the galaxy.  HMS, and everything else.  Actually,
HMS isn't used nearly as often as it would seem from its heavy usage in the
     Basiclly, HMS stands for Heroiclly Manned Starship.  A hero (or heroine,
no real distinction here) is defined as A) any being who has been specificlly
trained in the art, science, responsibility, and media opportunity of
High Action, Romance, Adventure, and Generally Risking One's Skin for Other,
or B) one who by his/her very nature is compelled to do A) above with or
without such training.  The Intern, 357, and Buzz Williams are all fully
lisenced and trained High Space Adventure Heros, therby qualifing for the
prefix through condition A).  Linda and Matt are Paladins, who by their nature
place others before them and do ridiculously stupid things all to "help
others" and all that Boy/Girl Scout stuff.  This is a rather blatent application
of condition B).  Muck-Luck couldn't give a rat' it to
say he isn't interested in being helpful to others.  Therefore, he does not
qualify for the HMS prefix, and his ship is prefixed by the classification of
its drive system.  Therefore, his ship is the WarpShip (or W.S) Elsewhere.
     There will be a short quiz at the end of the week.  Please have this
information well studied.
     Back in the story....
     The Millenium Badger set down lightly in a small ravine.  This translates
roughly to "the crash didn't damage any natural surroundings and Matt and
Linda survived with minimal brusing in embarrising locations."
     The two intrepid explorers, armed with their Heavy Death Really Kill'Em
Personal Nukers, their Original Series Star Trek Communicators, Matt's Bomber
Lacket, Linda's Deus Ex Machina, and small tricorders (which really were'nt
nessecary as Matt was Omniscient but Matt really didn't use his omniscience
very much and besides, it was more fun this way) wandered out towards the
life forms they had detected in orbit while I was explaining the HMS prefix
to you, our valued readers.
     "Its a couple of miles, according to the Tricorder," said Linda, who
didn't really have to understand what she was saying, the Tricorder simply
printed out a short "couple of miles to lifeforms" message as she fooled with
the buttons.
     "Right then, lets get walking."  He flipped out his communicator and
flipped it open.  "DeForrest to Millenium Badger, come in Galahad!"
     &Sir,& the onboard computer reported back over the communicator, &did
you really have to rename me Galahad?&
     "Of course, it sounds better than Jed!"
     &I liked Jed&
     "Never mind, activate electrocounters, to prevent Muck-Luck from
detecting your location from orbit."
     &I know what my own Electrocounters can do.&
     "Yes, but the readers didn't.  Keep a lock on our communicator signals,
if we need to get beamed out of trouble, I don't want you asleep at the switch!"
     "Yeah, you"
     &Oh, Transixed&
     &You could have just said Transixed, or 'use the transix', or something
like that...instead of this 'beaming' nonsense.&
     "Uh, yeah.  DeForrest out."  He flipped the grid closed.  "Why don't
any of my computers like me?"
     *****Well, for a start....*****
     "Don't you get into this, Superbrain!"
     *****Sorry--geez...hey Boss, if you don't need me, I'm gonna head up to the
Relay.  Yell if you need some simple math finished*****
     "Yeah, yeah, right."
     The two trudged off towards the lifesigns.
     In the nebulous computer electoworld, at the Infra-Red Iguana Tavern
(relay compaccount access only channel 1000000125), Superbrain showed up and
stretched.  He walked in just in time to see a non superaccount be dragged
of and thrown out.  --You'll pay for this-- shouted ENLL6AC at BOSTONU, --I mean,
just because I'm not a Cornell account....--
     *****Stupid Standerd Accounts,***** mumbled Superbrain as he sidled to
the bar and sat next to a sexy ship's computer.
     Then he did a doubletake.  *****Val?***** he said, *****Val9000 at Time, how
have you been?*****
     Val turned to him, smiling, =Superbrain?  Superbrain!  It has been WAY
too long since we
     Superbrain sent hr a private message which made her simutaniously blush
and smile.  =Presicly,= she said.
     *****What's up?*****
     =Well, my user's monitoring Dr. Von Spleen in some wreckage and I figured
he wouldn't need me for a while...hey did you know Annihilator's on a rampage?=
     *****Rampage?  Over me?*****
     =You bet, he's going rogue--destroying Star Systems just trying to wipe
your user get back at you=
     *****Oh fantastic.  Good thing Oracle2's way too well guarded for compu
     =Yeah...but one of the author accounts hit Annihilator and temporarily
imploded'll be a while before he gets on our back again.=
     *****Good...well then, if we have a little time to does
channel 1617223133 sound to you?*****
     Val smiled, sipped her compuKahlua, and /changed channels with


CSNOTICE SFSTORY into tune answers the For!

***** Entry appended 20:07 on Thu, 04/28/88 by enll6ac at bostonu   # 194 *****
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